Stronger
by Eliss Elusive
Summary: AU. When the Districts first rebelled against the Capitol, they were severely punished with a crippling genetic mutation. Death is certain for those who are born infected. However, there is a chance to be cured - the Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

**Stronger :: Chapter One**

_And I find it kind of funny; I find it kind of sad.  
><em>_The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had._

I was born knowing I was probably going to die before I hit 25. Apparently, I had my father to thank for that, though obviously he was long gone – leaving behind an incompetent young widow and two daughters, ages five and one.

The only thing we knew about the sickness was that it was impossible to predict. The test was given when you were born to see if you were a carrier, and from then on you were on your own. Sometimes it killed quickly, other times it would take years, and still there were the infected people who lived out long, healthy lives.

Sometimes two infected people had perfectly healthy children. And other times, the disease wouldn't show up for generations only to suddenly infect an entire family.

There were people who let it consume their entire life.

And then there was me – someone who tried to completely forget about it, except for once a year when-

"Decided what you're doing yet?"

Gale, my best and only friend, had lost his father to the sickness. He'd gotten up, gone to work in the mines like any other day, and suddenly dropped dead. He'd left behind three children under the age of ten and a wife heavy with child. At least none of them had been born infected.

"I've still got time." I nocked an arrow though there was no game in sight – anything to avoid this conversation.

Over 70 years ago, the districts had waged war on the Capitol. In the end, the districts had surrendered after the Capitol completely destroyed District 13. Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of the story.

A Capitol scientist had been working on the ultimate weapon – a genetic mutation that crippled the enemy. No one knew what form it came in or how it spread, only that somehow without the approval of the Capitol's government, he'd managed to release it into the districts.

It was common knowledge that District 12 had many more infected, being closest to the remains of District 13, which had been hit the hardest. Districts 1 through 4 were hardly affected, being so close to the Capitol that the scientist didn't want to risk it somehow spreading.

Nearly 75 years later, there was still no cure.

But of course, there was more. The Capitol, being _eternally compassionate_, instituted the Hunger Games. Every year, two "tributes" from each district were forced to, wait – given the privilege of being taken away from their friends and family so that Capitol doctors could attempt to fix them. There was a slight chance you'd walk away cured, and a larger chance that your looming death would just be expedited.

However, all of the infected had the chance to withdraw their names in exchange for a few doses of whatever experimental drug the Capitol was pushing. That had been what I'd done since I was 12, the first year I'd been eligible for the "reaping." I wouldn't take the medicine, usually selling it off to someone who was too old to have their name entered.

"Want to know what I would do if I were you?" Gale finally asked.

"I don't think it matters, since you'll tell me anyway."

Gale went silent. I knew better than to think he was angry, and instead scanned the clearing to see what he'd spotted. A few seconds later, a small doe stumbled out of the brush. Gale looked at me out of the corner of his eye – his subtle way of telling me this was my kill.

I let my arrow fly, immediately knowing the shot had been too high. The deer looked at us with wide eyes, then took off.

"I'll get the next one, just-"

"If you're going to make it back in time to sign up, we're going to have to check the traps and head back now," Gale said. He looked at me for a few seconds before hopping down from the tree, giving me enough time to disagree.

It was only a formality. He knew I wouldn't.

We checked the traps in silence, finding only a few small rabbits. If we'd had more time, we would have tried gathering berries or herbs – anything worth trading for something of more substance.

Hunting in the woods was punishable by death. A giant electrical fence was supposed to keep people out, but since the Seam – our part of District 12 – was lucky to get power for a few hours a day, it was usually safe to touch.

And since people in our part of District 12 rarely had enough food, the Peacekeepers turned a blind eye to what we did. Some of them were even our best-paying customers.

Gale grabbed my hand just before we reached the fence. "Wait," he murmured. He picked up a small chestnut and threw it at the fence.

There was a loud zap, and the smell of smoke reached us before the charred remains of the chestnut hit the ground. I hadn't even heard the slight buzz of the electrical current; if Gale hadn't stopped me, I'd be dead.

"How long before the power goes out?" I asked.

"Couldn't say," Gale said, sitting at the base of a tree. Obviously, he didn't expect us to get back in any time soon.

I looked up at the sky. The deadline to sign up for medicine was at noon, and the sun was nearly directly above us. Why hadn't I signed up before I went out this morning?

"Katniss, your name will only be in there once. Think of the upper class infected. I bet Madge's parents have paid the Capitol enough to have her name entered at least 50 times," Gale said. Just as you could withdraw your name, you could enter it more times for an extremely exorbitant price. "You won't be picked."

I took a deep breath. Most people in District 12 opted for the medicine. Some people swore it made them feel better. More often than not, it had unpleasant side effects, ranging from mental degeneration to blindness, even death.

But to most people, the medicine was a better chance than the Capitol's doctors. District 12 hadn't had a survivor in nearly 25 years. His name was Haymitch Abernathy. He was the town drunk, and he'd be the mentor to the boy and girl picked in today's reaping.

I pitied whoever got stuck with him.

Having nothing better to do, I sat next to Gale. We didn't say anything, the silence broken only when Gale would occasionally throw another nut at the fence. A few hours had to have passed by before the hum of the current finally ceased.

Cautiously, Gale threw another nut at the fence. When nothing happened to it, he nodded. I took off for the fence, carelessly crawling under it. The wire poked at my back, but I didn't care. Until I knew I was too late to get medicine, I wasn't going to slow down.

A stage had already been set up in our town square for the reaping later today, but to the left, there was a small table. That was what I was interested in.

Every year, the names of all the infected from the ages of 12 to 18 were written on two large pieces of paper in neat, organized columns. When a person waived their right to become a tribute, their name was crossed off the list. At noon, all of the names left uncrossed were written on small slips of paper and put into two glass balls – one for males, the other for females.

Entries were cumulative, which meant if I hadn't pulled my name out each year, my name would be written five times. And like Gale had pointed out, the rich families paid to have their children's names entered more.

If it was too late to enter, I would only be one poor girl among hundreds of others. The odds were too slim for my name to be picked.

However, I would rather have no chance than a slim one.

"Excuse me," I said to the two women sitting at the table. They'd already begun writing names on small pieces of paper – a sign that I was too late. "Is it...can I…?" I was out of breath from my run here and unsure how to ask what I was nearly certain I knew the answer to.

"The drawing isn't until 5:00, sweetheart. You'll have to come back then," one of the old women said to me, smiling.

"You mean it's too late to sign up for the medicine?" I asked, looking at the pieces of paper behind them. All I could see were solid lines of black, an occasional spot of white sporadically appearing. My stomach dropped.

"It's nearly 3:00, darling," the other said, flashing a gap-toothed smile.

I could have reached over the table and slapped the smile right off her face, but something held me back. Instead, I turned around and slowly walked back to Gale, who was just entering the Seam, our meager game already sold off.

"I was too late," I told him, keeping my tone neutral.

"I knew you'd be. Good luck, Katniss," he said, brushing past me.

I wasn't sure what he meant by that.

That was when I realized he'd never told me what he would do.

_Notes: First Hunger Games story! Yays! Obviously, I'm new here, lovelies. Reviews are love and inspiration. If I'm inspired, the next chapter should be a good deal longer.  
><em>_So how about a random fact? In this story, the Games are still called the Hunger Games after the scientist who invented the disease – Xerxes Hunger._


	2. Chapter 2

**Stronger: Chapter Two**

_Imperfect boys with their perfect lives.  
><em>_ Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy._

My mother didn't say anything when I stormed into our small house, right past her and my younger sister and straight into the bedroom we shared. I slammed the door shut, a clear sign that I did not want company.

Neither of them understood this day like I did. They were born without the disease, and they couldn't understand why I passed up the chance at being cured. Or at least Prim, my younger sister, couldn't. My mother didn't talk to me about the disease after my father died.

They'd be thrilled to know my name was entered, which was exactly why I wasn't going to tell them. Prim didn't need any false hope. There was no way my name would be drawn.

It would be like any other year. We would go to the town square to watch the reaping, come back home, and pretend like two teens from our district hadn't been sent to their deaths.

Bile rose in my throat when I realized that could be me.

But it wouldn't, I told myself.

* * *

><p>When it came to the Games, Effie Trinket was District 12's media specialist. She showed up every year for the Reaping, pulled two names out of giant glass bowls – one for the girls and one for the boys – and then retreated back to the train that brought her here, not to be seen again until next year.<p>

It was assumed that she helped the tributes through their interviews and medical consultations, though that role must have taken place off camera, because we never saw it in the footage they televised of the Games.

This year she was dressed in a garish yellow ensemble, complete with lace and bows. The skirt she wore jutted out at her hips and narrowed around her knees, reminding me of the cupcakes in the bakery windows. And I kid you not when I say her hair was pink.

This was the norm for Capitol citizens – bright colors, unnatural hair colors, even strange cosmetic surgeries, we'd been told. And if Effie was any standard for comparison, what we'd been told must have been true.

She daintily stepped onto the stage that had been erected for this occasion. The heels on her shoes had to have been at least seven inches – such impractical clothing looked out of place in District 12, where most people's clothes were covered with soot from the mines.

"Welcome, District 12," Effie said, her strange Capitol accent ringing through the dead silence. "Today we gather to select one lucky boy and girl to be taken to the Capitol, to receive the treatment of our fabulous doctors, and to possibly come home cured!" She paused for applause.

It was the same speech we'd heard every year. No one had ever clapped before. This year was no different. I squeezed Prim's hand. She'd insisted on standing next to me during the Reaping, even though she was still under the impression that my name had been removed.

I made eye contact with Gale, standing at the other side of the square. _"Good luck,"_ he mouthed. And with a slight glint of humor in his eyes, he added, _"And may the odds be ever in your favor."_

I wanted so bad to know what he meant by that. My palms were sweating. I hoped Prim wouldn't notice.

"Oh, that never gets old!" Effie said, clasping her hands to her chest. I realized I'd completely missed the video they made us watch every year. Normally, the fanfare of the Capitol anthem made me want to gag. I couldn't believe I'd missed it.

"And now it's time to select our two tributes. Ladies first," Effie chirped, strutting across the stage to one of the glass balls. There were thousands of names in there. My odds of being chosen were microscopic.

It seemed like it took forever for Effie to grab on to a piece of paper, walk back to the microphone, and unfold it. In that time, I noticed her nails were grotesquely long and painted a light shade of pink. I'd bet all the money in the world there wasn't any coal dust underneath them.

And I'd bet there weren't any calluses on her hands from washing clothes and dishes. Effie Trinket was the only Capitol person I'd ever met, and she disgusted me.

With great deliberation, Effie finally said, "Katniss Everdeen."

The next few moments blurred together, and it felt like they were happening to someone else. It only took the cameras a few seconds to find me. I suppose it wasn't hard finding the one everyone was gaping at.

Prim squeezed my hand. "Come on, you have to go up now," she whispered to me, excitement in her voice. She didn't realize she was probably going to lose her sister. No, it was certain in her mind that I was going to be cured.

Robotically, I walked up to the stage, tripping as I walked up the stairs. My face turned bright red as snickers broke out throughout the crowd. I would not look at Gale, or Prim, or my mother.

Effie beckoned me towards her. Her tasteless nails dug into my flesh as she wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Katniss Everdeen, what a lucky girl you are," she trilled. "Should we find out what lucky boy will go to the Capitol with you?"

Luckily, she didn't expect a response from me. I couldn't have formed words even if I tried.

In a few seconds, Effie was back with another small slip of paper. She unfolded it quickly, leaned into the microphone and called out, "Peeta Mellark."

The baker's son. His name had probably been entered at least 50 times each year. It was easy to find him in the crowd. On his face was a look of excitement. Another naïve person who thought the doctors could cure him.

More often than not, the tributes from District 12 were killed during the first round of treatment.

"Katniss, Peeta, good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor," Effie said, wrapping an arm around each of us and pulling us in for what I imagined was the perfect camera shot.

As soon as the cameras were off, Peacekeepers appeared and escorted us away. "Do we get to say goodbye to our families?" Peeta asked, looking more nervous than he had a minute ago.

"There will be time for that later," one of them said gruffly, "if you make it that far." Of course, tributes who survived the first week were allowed the privilege of a few minutes of visiting time with their families.

I'd be lucky to last the first day.

Effie escorted us onto the train that would take us to the Capitol. "This will be your home for the next day. It's a long ride to the Capitol. As I'm sure you know, the evening of your arrival, there will be the parade of all the tributes. The next morning, you'll be paired with a doctor. You'll have the day to plan with them, and interviews will be that night. Then, you'll have a few days for your doctor to prep you, and then the Games will begin!"

Peeta managed a weak smile. I didn't try to look enthused.

The train was furnished with expensive-looking Capitol furniture. Just the dining area was bigger than my house back in District 12. "Haymitch would like to speak with both of you. He was a bit, er, indisposed at the time of the Reaping," Effie said, wrinkling her nose. "He's in the living room, just through that door."

I marched across the room, Peeta trailing nervously at my feet. The living room was decorated similarly to the dining area, except for the large television that took up nearly all of one wall. Images of the Reapings in other districts were flashing across the screen.

Haymitch was sitting on the recliner, drinking something out of a flask. I could smell the alcohol from the other side of the room. "He's drunk," I whispered to Peeta, who nodded, looking even more anxious.

It took Haymitch a while to notice us. When he did, he smacked his lips and gestured to the couch. "Take a seat. I'd call you by your names, but the program hasn't gotten to your district yet," he said, sounding both arrogant and apathetic.

"You could have actually bothered to show up," I said, my voice cold. I locked eyes with the man who would be our mentor for however long we lived.

Peeta took a seat, nervously looking back and forth between us. "I'm, um, Peeta Mellark and she's Katniss Everdeen."

Realizing it wasn't worth it, I looked away from Haymitch and took a seat next to Peeta. There was silence for a few minutes as we all looked at the TV.

Finally, Haymitch tore his gaze away from the screen and looked at us for a few seconds, eyes narrowing as he took us in for the first time. "You each have five seconds to tell me your symptoms. Go." He leaned back, bringing his bottle to his lips.

Peeta and I both just stared at him, dumbstruck.

He sighed. "Lesson number one: do not waste time with your medical team. When they ask you a question, you answer it quickly and honestly. Lying is suicide. Understand?" We shook our heads. "Now, let's try this again. Peeta, go."

"Sometimes it feels like there's this giant weight on my chest, and it makes it hard to…" Whatever he was going to add was lost in a violent fit of coughing. Haymitch tossed him a cloth to cover his mouth with as if the whole thing was completely normal. When the coughing finally subsided, Peeta wiped his face, leaving dark red stains on the cloth.

"Okay, now you, sweetheart," he said to me.

"I don't have any symptoms," I said.

"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Why would I lie?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." He went back to watching the screen. It had finally gotten to our district. I looked so pale, so small and weak on the screen. The look on my face could have passed for disbelief at my good fortune. The screen cut to two Capitol men.

"What do you think, Caesar? Any early predictions?"

"You know it's impossible to tell at this point, Rami. However, it's rumored that the girl tribute from District 12's name was only entered once. Can you believe that?"

"I'm sure that can't be true – the odds are practically impossible."

Unfortunately not.

_Notes: Ehh, not sure how much longer this story will be continued. If this story continues, the next few chapters will be more character development, versus the last few that have been very plot-driven. But fear not, I have another Hunger Games story I might do if this one is discontinued. Reviews are love, children._


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